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Homeless in The Sun


And still the concrete shells march
Stomp across the wastelands
With empty shuttered windows
Reflecting landscapes torn apart

Still the scab swells in its white washed walls
Filled with stainless steel
Empty rooms and unused washing machines
Furnishings baking in slow dust

Still the constructions insanity
Marks out the holiday homes
Of once a month in yearly
They fill swimming pools

The vacant skulls of economic where-with-alls
Stand in useless tombstone rows
Weeds between their false marble tiles
Little green testaments to the concretes waste of time

A brand new holiday home
Have one, money, mortgage, affordable no option
Just Oh so fashionable
Like a brand new mobile phone
And if you want they will build one
Just for you

Have another little plastic doll
Buy another pile of inflatable accoutrements
To rot away in creeping cockroach
And too much sun 

Facile ingrates of the mindless plethora
Kick back with comfort
On the sun chairs of the homeless
Scrape away the last bastions of wilderness
Turn out the creatures to die
In the middle of brand new planted roads

Holiday homes
A place in the sun
Waiting empty for months on end
Plants withered from thirst
In scrub land gardens
All waiting for a two week vacation


The rest of the year standing empty
While people sleep on the streets

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